Blood in the Water(76)

This was all going wrong. Jane was supposed to find a legal solution, one which would preserve his rights and protect society at the same time, but she’d been naïve.

They were hurtling toward a bloody end.

Unless she made a last ditch effort to stop this insanity.

“Oscar, I don’t know how all of this got so twisted. Can’t we meet? In public?” Maybe she could head this off. If she could talk to him, face-to-face in a safe place, Jane might be able to reach him.

“The time for talk is over. And Jane?”

“Yes?”

“It’s far too late for punishment. You brought all this on yourself. I want you to remember your sins against me in the hours to come.”

The words sounded final, like a judge imposing a sentence.

“Why, what’s going to happen next?”

No response.

“Oscar, what’s going to happen next?”

But the line had gone dead.





Chapter Eighteen



Byron woke up to find Jane sitting on the end of the bed, a hand over her mouth. He didn’t know what had happened, but he had a damn good guess.

“What the fuck did he do now?”

“Valentine said I only have myself to blame for what happens next. I have no idea what he’s going to do, but it can’t be good.”

Byron enfolded her into his embrace, and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. She was cold, trembling against his chest.

“Tell me what happened.”

As she spoke, Byron held her, stroked her back, and tried to soothe the stiffness away. Afterward, they hauled their electronic devices out to the car. Vick promised to do a security sweep on the equipment when they got back to Hell, and she apologized for not suggesting it earlier. Byron should’ve thought of it too, but they’d been distracted by the cameras.

Their last hope, their only hope, of a peaceful solution was Juliet. Byron doubted anything would come of it. When she’d run off last night, Juliet had been rattled.

Sure enough, they waited for her in the hotel eatery and she didn’t show. At half past nine, they decided to look for her.

As soon as they headed up the stairs, Byron knew something was wrong. Somehow, he could feel it.

In his mind’s eye, he saw the scars on her pale wrists, and his stomach clenched. He took the stairs two at a time, and Jane was right behind him.

“Juliet?” Byron knocked on the last door at the end of the hall marked private.

No answer.

“Juliet?” Jane called. “Are you ready for coffee?”

Silence.

“Fuck this.” With a grunt, Byron kicked the door open.

The room was empty. It was also a mess—the bed was unmade. Clothes were strewn around the room, and a collection of wadded up paper littered the carpet.

I hope she ran off.

At least then, she’d be alive. Her family could find her, coax her into coming home. Juliet could go into therapy, maybe get some depression meds. Hell, he’d hook her up with marijuana if she wanted some.

“Juliet?” His heart pounded like an anvil beating against his ribs.

There was still one more door against the far wall. Somehow it appeared even further away.

“Byron, these are suicide note attempts.” Jane held a piece of paper in her unsteady hand. “Oh, God. I think she hurt herself.”

That’s when he noticed blood seeping under the door, staining the carpet.

Byron froze as the memory of his mother’s murder surfaced. And once again, he was a child standing in a bloody hallway. His father opened the door with wide eyes—blood spatters on his face.

Grab her ankles, son. Help me drag her onto the shower curtain. The memory hit him with brutal force—the weight of his mother’s lifeless body in his hands, the thick, sticky gore on his hands and shirt. His father’s harsh commands. The smell of freshly turned earth as they’d buried her out in the back forty.

Byron shook his head, clearing out the cobwebs and the pain of yesteryear. Then he shouldered open the bathroom door.

Juliet floated face up in the bathtub, arms spread open wide, eyes lifeless. The water was stained red with her blood.

“Goddammit.”

Jane cried out, then stifled a scream with her hand.

A razor blade lay next to the tub. Her forearms were flayed open, along the length of each vein. She’d probably used the hot water to keep the blood flowing. The pain must’ve been excruciating.

No, no, no! Fuck it all. Not again.

Byron laid a hand on Juliet’s forehead. I’m so sorry. He swept his palm down over her eyes, shutting them. At the very least, she deserved retribution for all she’d suffered.

Another woman had died on his watch, and her death would be on his conscience too. And here he thought he’d evolved past such things.